Scars of Fate
by Alouscrie
Summary: A young reaper taking harvest; a young woman searching for meaning. A trail of broken bodies, drawing the two ever closer together. A dark tale of murder and abandonment. AU, probable Nanofate, possible other pairings. Rated M for graphic imagery.
1. Prologue

This story is going to focus on very dark themes, including depression, torture, and murder, and is not intended for the faint of heart. I'm not sure how long it's going to be, or exactly how it's going to end, but for those of you troopers who keep with it, there will be an ending. Bittersweet, perhaps, but there will be closure. We'll just have to see how it comes out. Reviews may just push the story along different courses. (wink, wink)

Prologue

Alone in a dark room, a young girl gasps frantically, laboring to take another breath, to draw more oxygen into her ravaged lungs, to combat the heartsblood slowly filling the organs. The girl's eyes glaze as she stares up at a smooth, empty ceiling—blinded by the pain in her body, and in her soul. Desperately, she tries to speak, to call out. Blood bubbles out of her open mouth, gagging the girl. In a last act of defiance—toward her tormentor, now long gone; or the inevitable, she could not be sure—the young woman clawed at the wet carpet, dragging herself, twisting her broken body to the side, so she could cough out the offending fluids.

"Please," she cried, barely above a whisper, "please, someone…… please help me….."

Another coughing fit, as one of her lungs collapsed completely. More blood on the carpet, another mess for someone to clean up. The girl's body convulsed at that thought, and her crimson lips curled up into a sardonic smile at her own absurd thought process. Surely whoever found her would have more to deal with than a stained carpet.

Her smile fading into a grimace of pain, the young woman tried once more to call out. Her voice sounded so small in her ears, so lost amongst the throbbing that rose in volume as her heartbeat ebbed. "Please."

Her eyes teared in frustration, at the cruelty of her captor, at her own weakness; even at her lost god—the faith that had failed to see her through her father's abuses; that had delivered her into the hands of that….. that monster. Another cough; another scarlet flower blossoming on the beige carpet.

"No….." she whispered to herself, "No!" Louder, through gritted teeth. "I don't want to die….. I don't…."

Her body curled up on itself as a massive wave of pain flowed through her, over her. The girl whimpered, no longer able to cry out. Her arms and legs began to shake, and her teeth bit into her lip as her body failed.

"It hurts! It hurts! Someone, anyone! Please, save me! Mother, save me!"

The young woman felt soft hands lift her head, drawing her into a warm embrace. With the last of her strength, the dying girl turned her head into the warmth, burying her face against the soft figure. Gentle hands caressed her, one patting her back, while the other ran its long, delicate fingers through her matted hair.

"Shh, little one," the figure replied, its voice soft and gentle, with a slight huskiness. "Rest now. It's all right."

The figure leaned forward, its face all but touching the young girl's head. "Pain, pain, fly away," it whispered softly, kissing the girl's brow.

The young woman sighed and closed her eyes, surprised to find that the pain truly was gone.

The figure sat in silence, rocking the body in her arms for a moment longer before setting it gently to the ground. It stands, its black cape falling into place behind it, revealing feminine curves. The woman's head remains tilted downward, causing long blonde ponytails to fall to either side of her sculpted face. The blonde lifts her head and holds her arms before her. "Bardiche," she murmurs, opening burgundy eyes as a scythe manifests in her waiting hands.

The young blonde looks down sadly at the broken girl before her, and—almost lovingly—taps the head of her weapon against the body. A small, blue wisp drifts upward from the still-warm corpse, and is drawn into the large yellow gem mounted on the scythe.

The woman blinks in surprise, and wipes away a single tear that had risen, unbidden, to the surface, and takes a step backward, away from the bloody scene before her. Shaking her head sadly, the young woman closes her eyes again, bidding herself vanish.


	2. Chapter 1 The Beneficent

Throwing open the dark, heavy wooden doors, Fate strolled into the lobby beyond. The room was grand on an impossible scale—somehow large enough to fit her entire apartment building within it, and disappearing into the shadows above. Throughout the room, dark marble pillars stretched upward toward infinity. While large, the room was also very plain, having few furnishings. No rugs covered the tiled floor, and the smooth, dark stone walls bore no portraits, no paintings. The entire room was held in twilight, illuminated to the lowest end of human visual acuity, though there was no sign of any fixtures that might be responsible. As the blonde strode between the cyclopean room, her stride fixed and focused, a figure stepped out of the shadows before her. A young man with short, dark blue hair stood wearing a heavy black coat with silver trim. As Fate approached him, she slowed her stride, stopping as it became obvious that he as indeed waiting for her.

"Coming back from a job?" The man asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the nearby pillar. "You were gone for quite a while."

Fate cursed inwardly and bit back her initial response. This was an old game, and one she had tired of playing. "I was observing the victim. I wanted to know the cause of death," she paused, her burgundy eyes fixing on the young man before her. "Why do you ask, anyway? It hasn't interfered in my work at all."

"You need to stop," the young man replied, meeting her stare. "You know as well as I do—you do the job, and you leave. You don't get involved."

The blonde's eyes hardened, "I do my job, Chrono. Isn't that enough?"

The young man shook his head and turned to walk away. Placing his hands behind his head, he paused, looking over his shoulder at the girl. "The Sybil decides that. Promise me you won't get involved any more. Nothing good will come of it."

When no answer came, the young man sighed and walked away, fading from sight mid-step. Fate continued forward, reaching another set of large doors. These doors were covered with arcane runes and sigils, etched in silver. Fate held out her hand, summoning Bardiche, and raised the device to the door. The jewel in the weapon glowed brightly, causing the door's etchings to light up as well. As all of the silver began to glow, the door split open, each half swinging inward. Fate walked slowly, resisting the tug of the chamber beyond. Within, a large device stood in the center of a dark void. Many threads of different sizes ran from the machine out into the darkness, each thread quivering slightly. At the far end of her vision, a statuesque woman sat amidst a tangle of threads, her very chair woven together. A thin, pale face contrasted with the long, dark dress and curtain of black hair that hung from the woman.

"Fate, my child," The woman said quietly, her voice somehow echoing through the emptiness. "Have you brought me what I require?"

"Yes, Precia," Fate began, wincing at the sense of disquiet that arose as she spoke. "I'm sorry. I found what you wished. I—"

"Fate, dear child," that voice cut in, demanding silence. "Why must you continue to disobey me?"

"I would nev—" An overwhelming pain burst behind the young woman's eyes, filling her with agony. The voice continued, unfazed. "You continue to intervene in the mortal's last moments. You insist on living in their world, pretending you are one of them. I have allowed you to play your little game only so long as it does not affect your mission."

Fate felt herself drawn forward, pulled across the distance between them. The older woman's hand cupped her cheek, a gentle caress. Her hand was cold, like stone, and left a lingering chill on Fate's cheek.

"I will overlook your eccentricities, my dear Fate," Precia cooed, tilting Fate's head and staring into her eyes. "But you must cease your ministrations to the damned."

"Yes….Yes, Mother," Fate whispered, tears running down her cheeks. Precia moved her hand to Bardiche, cupping its golden gem. As she pulls her hand away, several small, blue wisps follow it, dancing above her palm. The woman blows on the flames gently, and they flow from her hand into the device before her.

No longer held in place, Fate sagged downward, sinking to her knees below the Sybil's throne. The blonde bit her lip, choking back a sob, and backed away from the seat before rising. "May I go now, Pr—Mother? I have another target soon, and would like to rest."

"You may go, child. I expect great things of you."

"Yes, Mother."

The blonde stepped backward out of the room, transcending the distance of that imaginary space, and faded from sight.

--

Fate wiped her red, puffy eyes and flopped dramatically onto her worn, aging couch. The much-abused fixing as a rather generic shade of brown—rather, whatever colour it once was had been hidden under numerous stains and discolourations that created the illusion of a common brown. The blonde brought her legs up onto the couch, hugging her knees to her chest, and stared balefully at the flickering screen before her. The faint glow of the television struggled to illuminate the barren room, a battle it was unprepared to win. On the screen, a monochrome woman dressed as a housewife was being scolded by her husband, whose face as covered in flour. Nearby, a middle-aged woman stood, holding a torn flour bag.

Apparently, the women had been fighting over it.

The housewife whined in a nasal voice, "Rickyyyy….."

"I hate Lucy," Fate mumbled, her right hand searching the lumpy cushions for her remote. Finding the controller, the young woman began to slowly click through the channels, lingering long enough to determine each program's entertainment value.

An old game show rerun: "Seen it." A man cutting through knives: "What a waste." Softcore porn: "So very fake." Hardcore porn: "Wait, I get this channel?"

Fate stared in disbelief at the screen, her finger frozen over the button. A variety of wet slopping noises, grunts, and moans filled the room, escalating to a frenzied crescendo. As the on-screen figures began to fling themselves around, the blonde's finger crashed down on the button, removing the offending images. Instead, a round, boisterous man stood in front of a large choir, and was ranting about salvation in the end times. Fate watched, curious, until the man claimed that the path to salvation was paved in generosity; at this point, a mailing address appeared onscreen, evoking a snort of disgust. The blonde flipped through several more channels before sighing and putting her head on her knees. She sat, unmoving, for a moment, bathing in the light of the screen, before her fingers found the power button, drawing her apartment into darkness once again. The young girl stood, grimaced, and faded from sight.

--

Several blocks away, a young blonde woman stepped out of space in a small alley looking out on a well-lit street. A small, warm café invited insomniacs in for a rest, and across the street, a movie theater poured multicoloured fluorescence into the night. Along the street, several lone pedestrians walked from the halo of one streetlight to another, too enveloped in their thoughts and fantasies to notice a young newcomer to their ranks. Fate walked over to the café and stepped inside, smiling faintly at the familiar aroma of slightly-burned coffee and mostly-stale pastries. A matronly-woman in a much-stained apron spares a bored glance at the girl as she takes a seat at a corner table near the window, and eases herself off of her stool, waddling over to place a dog-eared menu on the edge of the table.

"Just coffee, and cream, please."

The woman places a worn mug before the girl, filling the cup and taking several creamer packets from the pocket of her apron and dropping them on the table. Fate smiles gratefully at the retreating woman and opens the cream, pouring it into her cup with her right hand, as she stirs gently with her left.

Blowing softly on the liquid, Fate sips carefully, tasting her mixture. Satisfied with the flavour, she gingerly holds the cup with both hands, and looks around the café, taking stock of the other patrons. Sitting in the next table over was an elderly gentleman, his craggy face flushed, most likely trying to sober up before heading home to his wife or family. Seated near the register, a middle-aged man in a badly worn, fading brown suit watched the waitress, mumbling to himself and continually stirring the coffee that had long since gone cold. A younger couple sat in a booth on the far side of the restaurant, leaning against each other as they read from colourful paperbacks and ignored their drinks. Fate sipped her coffee as she analyzed each patron in turn, unsure of what exactly she as trying to determine. Shaking her head, the blonde turned toward the window, staring out into the sleepy street. As she watched, pedestrians meandered toward their destinations, walking, jogging, and lurching their way along the sidewalk. It seemed as if even the most destitute person had somewhere to be; somewhere they belonged.

Her coffee now a comfortable temperature, Fate took a long swallow, letting the liquid warm her stomach and settle the feeling of unrest that had plagued her since her encounter with Precia. The Sybil's reprimands never failed to cut on an emotional level, serving as a constant reminder of her difference.

Outside, people flowed out of the theater and spilled into the street in groups and pairs. Young couples held hands and hugged, claiming each other as they made their way down the street to their homes, or to their cars. A young man, probably of high school age, spun his date around, tilting her and planting a kiss solidly on her lips, provoking a giggle from the girl as she pulled away, leading him by the hand. The street was filled with flirting and love, some small amount of which managed to spill into the lonely café. The suited man finally worked up the courage to smile at the waitress, whose return smile smoothed her care-worn face, almost drawing out the beauty of her youth. The young man in the corner whispered into his partner's ear, making her blush, giggle, and playfully smack him with her book, drawing yet more whispering and giggles.

Fate set down the cooling coffee and shook her head. Outside, the couples were still making their way down the street, drowning in their own private worlds. Sighing heavily, the girl slumped forward, placing her arms on the table and resting her head upon them. Taking this as a sign, the waitress came to the table, quietly placed down the bill, and returned to the counter, filling up the middle-aged flirt's cup and leaning forward to listen to him excitedly talk about fertilizer sales.

Several minutes passed, and the streets again emptied, leaving a familiar stillness over the neighborhood.

Beep-beep! Beep-beep!

An alarm goes off, drawing a few bored glances from other patrons. The blonde girl sits up slowly, shuts off the alarm on her watch, and checks the time. Standing wearily, Fate pulls several crumpled bills out of her pocket—not bothering to count—and drops them carelessly onto the table. The blonde walks quietly out of the café, pausing just outside the door to adjust her coat, and continues around the corner of the building. In the alley-way, the same alley she had stood in earlier, there was a small, stray mongrel digging for scraps, several dented trashcans….and no sign that the young woman had ever walked through.

--

Straining against her bonds, a young girl cried out, uttering a wordless combination of rage and fear. Before her, a large, white rug lay covering the hard wood floor. A coffee table was turned over on its side, leaning against the wall with its legs turned inward. Her eyes narrowing as she recognized the living room to be her own, the young girl turned her head toward the ceiling, trying to take note of her situation.

"Are we awake?" A clipped, sultry voice asked as the couch behind her creaked, its aging springs relaxing after having a weight removed. The figure approached, its right hand rolling the young girl onto her back, allowing her to see her tormentor's face. The figure above her was a young woman, perhaps a high-schooler like herself. Her short brown hair hung down from her face, framing a cute round face; several small hairpins kept her hair away from the left side of her face. Expressive blue eyes stared down at her, measuring the captive girl's response to her words.

"I'm glad," the woman smiled, closing her eyes. "I was afraid that I was going to have to wake you myself."

The young captive glared up at the brunette, snarling. "What is this about? Rape? You sick fuck!"

"Rape?" The brunette opened her eyes, frowning. "Nothing so vulgar. No," she began, removing several small tools from her purse and lining them up side by side, taking a small scalpel into hand, "This is something far more than the flesh….. though, there's no reason why we shouldn't have some fun first, is there?"

The brunette smiled wolfishly, her eyes tracing the frightened girl's curves hungrily. Her tongue flicked out, moistening her lips as she tightened her grip on the small utensil.

"So, shall we begin?"


	3. Chapter 2 The Innocent

Here's the new chapter of Scars--once again, I warn the reader that this story has very dark themes, such as death, torture, depression, and suicide. For those of you who don't like their stories too dark, who are used to my fluff, or who know how my angst stories often end up--don't worry, this will eventually have a happy ending. Most likely.

Comments are appreciated and encouraged. While I have a basic plan for the story's progression, I may make adjustments depending on reader comments and suggestions, so let me know what you think!

--

Ch2--The Innocent

The sky hung low over the city, their cover a featureless ceiling, imprisoning the millions of faceless inmates, shackling them to the ground. Across the school grounds, the open gate revealed a street littered with waiting parents, friends, and drivers. Within the school, classroom 2-A, students stared intently at the clock, their massed will urging it forward. Before them, their teacher, Uchiro Kanzaki stood staring into a history book as he read the outcomes of the Battle of Sekigahara straight from the text. In the back of the room, a young, pony-tailed brunette sat with her book bag on her lap, staring out the windows. Her teacher took no note the girl's inattention; she could often be found staring out the window (or, he had fancied, at her own reflection within it), but when he tried to embarrass her about it, she seemed to feed on the attention. The neediness in her eyes, the quiet desperation--nothing Mr. Kanzaki had been taught gave him any tool he could use to deal with the problem. As such, he did the next-best thing: he shut it out.

The young girl broke her stare and looked down at her notebook, watching herself take notes as if from a distance. She waited, detached, as each word was written; watching as each line filled up, not sure if she expects the words to continue forming; feeling a small sense of amazement when each new line began. With each sentence, she could feel herself become physically less solid. A flame of panic rose within her, railing against disappearance, causing the girl to look back toward the windows. There, as always, her reflection stared out at her, reminding her of her presence--her reality.

Today was a bad day. Today, she would walk home through the small shopping district near the school. The trip took a bit longer, but the streets were lined in reflective windows at every angle, and the girl would could always see herself--it was how she knew she existed, and helped her hold together the broken fragments of her self. At the very least, if she should finally disappear completely, she would be able to watch herself fade. The girl could not remember the last time she had been certain of her own existence; it had been long since she had had any dreams, and she herself had no effect on the people around her. People would run into her in the halls and walk on as if nothing had happened, or continue with their tasks, unhearing, as she approached them. Her tenuous connections with people could disappear at any time--only her reflection remained to tell her that she was really there.

The school bell rang, struggling to break its way into the young girl's reverie. The other students were all preparing to leave, their attentions focused on their belongings and each other as they began to shuffle out of the classroom. The young girl stood, her blue eyes dull, expressionless, and prepared to leave herself.

"Nanoha," a shy voice asked quietly, causing a brief flicker of _something_ within her. She turned, facing the voice, staring intently at the speaker. The other girl was a small and bookish, with long purple hair held back by a simple hair band. Next to her, a short-haired blonde stood impatiently, tapping her foot in annoyance. "Nanoha, are you alright? You've become so distant…" Over the girl's shoulder, Nanoha's reflection stared at her, its eyes boring into the brunette, a heavy weight on her chest. That face could be considered pretty, if men had ever noticed her. Her features were delicate, well-defined, and her skin was pale and smooth, giving the impression of a porcelain doll.

Nanoha smiled, a fragile, hollow thing, and shook her head. These girls had been her friends, once, long ago. Long before she had begun to fade. They would be the last to forget her. Nanoha's hand went to her chest as a painful thought came to her--suddenly, she felt that she was never going to see these two again. She ignored the feeling as she spoke; it was far from the first time she had had that impression. "I'll be fine. I just need to go home and help my sister."

The brunette turned around and fled before the others could respond, hurrying toward the glass in the hallway, relaxing when she found her reflection there waiting for her.

"Give up, Suzuka-chan," the blonde huffed bitterly. "She doesn't want to be our friend any more. It's been years."

Suzuka stood looking at the empty doorway, and said nothing.

--

Nanoha walked slowly down the street, staring at the shops as they began their evening shifts. On every side of her, large, thick panes stared back at her, challenging her to deny their reflections. Though there were several people on the street, no one noticed the young high-school girl that drifted through the glass. She made her way through the shops, slowing as she came to a small bridge, over looking the river as it headed out to sea. This bridge had always been a landmark in her life, marking so many of the important events that had come and gone. Slowly, the girl walked to the railing and stared out over the water. This had once been her favorite place, long, long before…

Climbing up, Nanoha swung herself over the railing, one leg, then the other, and carefully lowered herself, sitting on the small ledge hanging there. Again, she found herself thinking about that time, her left hand moving toward her abdomen, lightly caressing the scar that lay hidden there, and what it meant.

_It's not like I actually make a difference, anyway. Nothing would change if I were gone. My death would be an inconvenience to sister, but I doubt mother even notices me anymore. Suzuka might notice, but she would forget after long…she has Arisa, and Arisa has already moved on. I'm not really important to anyone. I don't do anything that anyone would want or miss. _

Sighing softly to herself, the brunette stood, leaning backward against the railing. She gazed out across the water, watching the sun sink toward the horizon. Random thoughts flitted through the young girl's mind, each dancing out of reach as she tried to focus on it. A picture came into focus, sparking a flood of memories. The girl's left hand moved to her chest, clutching at the pain that flared up in her heart, as her right slowly slid away from the steel. The brunette began to turn, facing back toward the street, when her heel slipped on the ledge, throwing her off balance. As she fell backward, the image dissolved in her mind, leaving her empty. The girl squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the fall; suddenly, her body jerked as strong hands grabbed her wrist, catching her.

"You'll have to help yourself up, I'm afraid," A gentle voice said softly, causing the girl to open her eyes. "I'm not strong enough to carry you back over."

The voice came from a young girl--perhaps her own age. The girl was dressed simply, a dark overcoat covering what appeared to be a black tee-shirt and white skirt. Her hair hung down in two long pigtails, each tied with a small black ribbon. The young brunette kept finding herself drawn to the other girl's eyes--those sad eyes, the color of wine… _Or blood…_

"I wouldn't…" The blonde said, nodding toward the water as she helped the other girl over the railing and onto solid ground, "It's not nearly as romantic or painless as in the movies."

"I didn't…I wasn't…" The brunette began, her voice failing as those eyes looked into her, opening her and reading her--worse, forcing her to read herself. The young girl faltered as her words fled her, uncertain herself as to whether the slip was accidental.

The other girl spoke again, cutting into her thoughts. "What's your name?"

"N--Nanoha. Takamachi Nanoha," The brunette replied, stunned by the suddenness of the question.

The blonde smiled, her face softening by degrees. "It's nice to met you, Nanoha. Please don't do anything foolish like that again.

Nanoha opened her mouth to argue, and closed it again as the words failed to come. Instead, she smiled, a wide, cheerful thing. "I promise! It was just an accident after all!"

The corners of her savior's mouth turned upward, the barest hint of a smile. "You have lying eyes," she said, touching the other girl's cheek with her right hand and staring into the brunette's expressive blue eyes. Nanoha blushed and shied away, unable to meet that gaze again. "I'll be alright. I won't do anything like that again."

Nanoha backed away from the other girl, and turned back toward her destination. "I guess I'd better head home," she turned back as she began to walk, meaning to wave goodbye. The blonde, however, was following her, casually matching her pace. "Umm, I'm ok now, really.

"I'm walking you home. Is…" for the first time, the blonde girl looked unsure of herself. "Is that alright?"

Nanoha cocked her head to the side, looking the girl over. For a moment, the other girl had looked lost; she had seemed so much smaller, almost desperate. Nanoha felt a sense of camaraderie, coupled with nostalgia. "I live a couple of blocks from here… you can walk with me if you like."

The two girls walked in silence through the darkening evening, their footsteps falling in time.

Nanoha found herself repeatedly glancing at the blonde, the feeling of familiarity growing with each look. Several times, she opened her mouth, only to close it again, unsure of what to say. Finally, she looked straight at the blonde, catching the other girl's attention. "Are you… do you have any family near here? Any cousins or sisters?"

The girl shook her head. "I live alone, but my mother and brother live… elsewhere. I visit them often," she smiled apologetically. "No sisters, no cousins, sorry. Why do you ask?"

"You remind me of someone… I must be mistaken though."

The two continued in silence, their footsteps continuing in time. After several minutes, Nanoha slowed and came to a stop, prompting a look from the other girl. They stood before a small bakery, which appeared to be in the process of closing for the evening.

"Well, this is my home. I guess I should head in now," Nanoha began, unsure of what to say. "I should have been home some time ago…"

The blonde nodded slightly, and looked over the building. "Be careful, from now on, alright?"

The brunette opened the door, and paused, glancing back. "What's your name?" she asked, surprised by her own boldness.

The blonde's nostalgic red eyes met hers, causing Nanoha 's own gaze to shy away as she clung to the door.

"Fate. My name is Fate."

Nanoha smiled shyly and stepped backward, drawing the door closed behind her. Before it closed completely, she poked her head back out. The blonde was still standing there in the road, watching her. "Umm…" she began, uncertain of her own voice, "See you later, maybe?"

Fate's eyes turned thoughtful, her hands opening and closing uncertainly as she considered her answer. "Sure," she said after a moment, her eyes uncertain while her lips hinted at a smile.

The brunette flashed a brief smile in return, and ducked back into the shop, letting the door close behind her.

--

"You summoned, Yuuno?"

Fate strode into the chamber, walking through the imaginary barriers and into the small, cluttered space, marked off by barriers of carpeting. Here and there, a picture or shelf hung in the air, giving the illusion of walls. Fate made a point of walking through one of the portraits, making the young blonde man sigh in exasperation. He looked up from the book he was reading and pushed his glasses back up his nose, looking the girl over with gentle green eyes. "Must you always do that? There are walls, and walls have doors for a reason."

"You know that there are no actual dimensions," Fate replied, crossing the carpeting and plucking the book from the man's hands. "I don't see why you limit yourself to such a small room, when you have an infinite space with which to work with." The girl noted the title, _The Season of Love, _and shook her head, smiling to herself. She rounded the small table and sat on the small, unkempt bed, flipping slowly through the pages as she glanced meaningfully at the large mess of machinery in the far corner of the room.

"I'd prefer not to think about it," Yuuno said, pushing his chair backward and standing. "I had prepared some snacks, but I suppose you want to get straight to business?"

"I might have other plans," Fate replied sulkily, frowning at the language in the novel before her. "Is it the new list?"

A dozen screen flared to life as Yuuno approached, each flashing information in symbols both ancient and arcane. The young man sat in front of what appeared to be a cross between a keyboard and an organ, and began to sift through the information, opening and closing files quickly. Fate watched, amused, as the man slowly limited the information, bringing all but one of the screens to rest. reaching forward, Yuuno took the screen in both hands and unfolded it, opening the image to four times the original size. "I've already sent the revised and updated list to your device," he began, "However, there is something odd about the data that you've accumulated. As you know," he continued, glancing back at Fate as his glasses slid back down his nose, "We require spiritual residue that contains a high magical potential."

"The souls of the damned."

"Well, yes, I suppose. I don't know about damned, but each of the souls we collect contains a great deal of magical energy within it. "

Fate nodded, her eyes fading as she settled into her routine. She knew better than to try and stop the Archivist once he began one of his lectures. _Smile and nod, Fate._

"The Sybil uses her prescience to detect these souls, and collects them in order to try and keep the mortal realm in order. She has forseen a great cataclysm, and is endeavoring to prevent it, or at least to minimize the damage. That is why she created you and Chrono," the Archivist smiled sardonically as he continued, "And why she has 'hired' me.

"Now, we have never been able to find any pattern in the distribution of suitable souls--however, I have noticed a common factor in each of your last three jobs."

Fate perked up, her eyes meeting Yuuno's gaze intently. The young man turned his chair to fully face the blonde, and brought an image onto the screen before him. A round, pretty face appeared on the screen, its brown hair cut short and pinned. The image's eyes smiled out at the reaper, a hint of cold malice buried beneath cute coyness.

"I know that girl..." Fate mused, rising to walk over to the screen.

"This is the image that was burned onto the psyches of the last three souls you collected. This is the face of their murderer."

Fate started, her gaze flicking between the young man and the screen. "Are you saying she can sense magic?"

"There's a possiblity that this is a fluke," Yuuno said thoughtfully, "But yes, I believe she is somehow targeting those with high potential."

The young blonde studied that face, intent on memorizing every feature. "I will keep an eye on this one..."

--

As she stood with her legs on either side of infinity, Fate rubbed her temples and sighed aloud. "What is it, Chrono?"

The reaper materialized before her, his expression blank. "What are you planning?"

"I'm not going to interfere, it that's what you mean," Fate snapped, venom in her voice. "I mean to watch the girl. She could be a valuable resource, if she _is_ specifically targeting magic."

Chrono nodded, then stepped forward suddenly, placing his hand gently on the girl's shoulder. "I just... I worry. I don't like to hear your punishments. I know you tire of me hounding you, but I just want to protect you, since you won't take care of yourself."

"I do fine," Fate argued, her voice softening. She pulled away slowly, and smiled. "Thank you, brother."

Chrono nodded, and watched as Fate vanished into oblivion. He stood in silence, staring out at the void, waiting for it to return his gaze.

--

Nanoha lay her head back and breathed deeply, filling her lungs with warm, moist air as she sank into the water, allowing it to cover all but her face. She stared blankly up at the ceiling, her thoughts far from her earthly fetters. She tried to avoid mulling over the events of the day, but that blonde girl, her _eyes_... something about them kept drawing her mind back, driving away all other considerations before them.

The girl had seemed so lonely, and sad--and yet, somehow, she had seemed so familiar, a living memory...

Nanoha shook her head and closed her eyes, lowering herself fully into the water. Underneath, she counted slowly, opening her eyes as she reached thirty. Again, unbidden, old thoughts crawled up from the depths of her mind, teasing her, offering sweet release. Panic rose suddenly from within her, and the young girl yelped out a small cry, a pathetic thing that was swallowed by the water rushing into her mouth. Splashing water onto the bathroom floor, the brunette shot upright, coughing and gasping for air. She clung to the edge of the tub, one leg over the rim, afraid that letting go would mean her end. She stared downward, her eyes tracing the lines on the floor, silently counting the seconds to herself. Slowly, her breathing relaxed, soothing her anxious heart and giving her the strength th roll herself out of the tub. The girl fell to the floor and weakly reached for her towel, rising to her knees and wrapping it around herself. Her wet hair hung lifelessly down her back, quickly soaking the towel around herself, necessitating a second towel for her brownish locks.

Nanoha wrapped her head in a make-shift turban, and stood for several long minutes, staring at the stranger reflected in the mirror. Gingerly, she touched herself on the cheek, watching intently as the figure did the same. For a moment, she analyzed the image, searching for any imperfection, and mistake that would prove the reflection to be another person. Once satisfied that she still existed, Nanoha opened the medicine cabinet and peeked inside. Within, various medications stood packed tightly together, their labels beginning to unpeel from the steam. The shelves contained pills for every kind of pain--anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxers; anti-anxiety and anti-depressants; pills for nerve damage and for migraines. The girl stared at the bottles, marvelling at how easily a person could mistake the bottles, if they were careless and inattentive. That person might easily mistake their normal medication for one of the more dangerous prescriptions--taking several of the muscle relaxers could even stop someone's heart.

Her fingers brushed past the pain relievers, coming to rest on a smaller bottle filled half-way with small, blue and white capsules. She opened the bottle, dropping a pill into her palm, and paused, before spilling two more. Replacing the bottle, the girl tossed the pills into her mouth and swallowed. Closing the cabinet, she stared at herself in the mirror again, practicing her smile.

Leaving the bathroom, the young girl walked softly over to the family area. The lights were off, but a figure sat curled up in a large easy-chair. In front of the figure, an older television sat flickering, its screen flashing memories of a happier time. The sound was off, but the ghosts of it remained, living on in the minds of the family. Nanoha walked over to the television and picked up the remote. Her hand hovered over the power button, but she remained still, watching. On the screen, an eight-year old Nanoha stood leaning over a large, pink cake, a wide smile on her face, her eyes shining. Behind her, her father and older brother wore small party hats. They both laughed as the child took a deep breath, trying to blow out all of the candles at once.

Her eyes watering, Nanoha shut off the screen. The set whined softly as the image faded, the young girl's face lingering in the center of the screen. Turning to the chair, Nanoha bent down and picked up a blanket that had fallen to the floor. In the chair, a middle-aged woman slept fitfully, warm tears running down her cheek. She looked so frail, her ravaged, useless body quaking as she dreamt. Nanoha gently placed the blanket over the woman, frowning when her hands found a small, empty bottle tucked into the side of the chair. An empty glass sat on the adjacent end table. Both smelled strongly of alcohol. Shaking her head sadly, the brunette bent forward and softly kissed the older woman's brow. The woman whimpered gently, then sighed and went still, her breathing becoming deep and regular. Nanoha took the glass and bottle, placed them on a nearby table, and stood for a moment, looking the room over. She then backed away, walking on the balls of her feet, and headed down the hallway, to her own room.

--

Fate stood in a small dark bedroom, holding a picture in one hand. The picture was in a nice, simple silver frame, and had stood out from the other objects on the small dresser. In it, a young family of five stood posing. Behind them, several trees stood on grassy hills, and the sun shone gently in the sky. The people in the picture all smiled genuinely, their eyes sharing secrets of mirth and love. Around the empty space where the picture had lain, several small dolls, candles, and pendants sat arranged esoterically. A small incense burner was coated with a fine layer of dust, as was a tiny statue of the Buddha. The walls were mostly bare, but above the dresser, posters with five, six, and seven pointed stars, strangely decorated circles, and taoist charts hung edge to edge. A small shelf held a six-inch long, sanded wooden stick, and a small, delicate knife.

Fate had felt herself drawn to this place, after leaving the Sybil's sanctum. something about the girl on the bridge had attracted her. She seemed to be just another mortal, going through life weighted down by her memories and perceptions--somehow, something about her seemed... familiar? Nostalgic? Neither term seemed to fit quite right...

Fate turned as the door opened, sliding _sideways_ as she did so, fading out of sight. The world around her took on a slight haze, but she would remain hidden from normal, mortal eyes. A young woman stepped softly in through the door, closing it behind her and leaning back against it. The girl wore a towel wrapped around her body, with a second around her head. The girl's eyes were closed, the telltale sparkle of a tear forming on the corner of her left eye.

Fate watched in the darkness as the girl slowly unwrapped her hair, letting it fall loosely down her back. The girl opened her eyes and began to walk toward the bed, her hands undoing the towel that clothed her, letting it fall to the ground. Fate could see a thin, pretty body--well-built, but fragile, a shade too thin; across the girl's abdomen, several vicious scars traced an uneven roadmap. The young girl's hands went to her belly, her fingers unconsciously stroking the largest of the scars--a wicked, vertical slash that stretched from her navel to her sternum, just below her breasts. Though the room lay in darkness, Fate could see every mark, every detail; a reaper's eye meant to see no matter what the circumstances. Nor was the girl's stomach the only blemished body part--her thighs sported several small, thin scars, each no more than an inch long, and perfectly identical. Fate's eyes roamed the slim form before her, and caught.

The girl's arms were the most horrific sight of all.

As she caressed her old wounds, the negligible light filtering through the windows shone on the young girl's arms. Pink ribbon scars stretched the length of the girl's wrists, shining evilly. The girl's long-sleeved uniform had concealed these horrors before, but now, seeing them fully, Fate found she could not look away. Suddenly, the events on the bridge, the telltale sadness in the girl's eyes... all of it came together, stunning the blonde with the force of her realization.

This girl was hurting. She was alone.

_She is just like me._

At that moment, Fate had decided. She may be forbidden to interfere in the last moments of a mortal's life; she may be unable to save those who had suffered--but she could help this girl.

Her choice made, the Reaper smiled grimly and willed herself back to her home.

Unaware of the intrusion, Nanoha sat on her bed and reached through the darkness toward her small nightstand. There, her questing hand found a small picture frame. The young girl hugged the photograph to her chest, unable to see the image in the darkness. She did not need to look--the image haunted her daily, waiting for her in her dreams. Nanoha clutched the picture and began to rock herself gently, a half-decade of tears welling up and flowing down her cheeks. She allowed her self a single sob, a small sound followed by a low, mournful whimper.

"Alicia..."


End file.
